Hope is a Waking Dream
by Ellie Biel
Summary: It took a brave man to have hope and to cling to that which he believed in when there were so many reasons why he should give up. Implied onesided YuuRam.


Impulsive, selfish, hot-headed. He knew he possessed these faults. He'd itemized them for Gwendal, hadn't he? He wasn't blind to his own shortcomings and despite what anyone believed, he wasn't particularly proud of them.

He could, however, live with them.

He wasn't blind to his own good qualities, either, and to pretend otherwise was to be a liar.

There was one trait he possessed that fell into both categories, and he could safely blame it all on the wimp.

Wolfram was a proud man and when Yuuri had proposed, he'd been insulted and humiliated. The duel had been another blow to his pride, but he'd suffered other losses, greater losses, and recovered. He would make a very poor soldier otherwise.

He touched his fingertips to the window glass. Not that he was exactly a soldier, but he could fulfill the duties as well as - _better than_ - many of the men who served Shin Makoku, even those who had gone off to fight in battle while he was stuck behind with his studies. His brothers...

A thin white film appeared on the glass as he sighed. He'd meant what he said when he'd told the new maou that Gwendal was far better suited for the position. He meant it now when he argued that Yuuri was too kind, too softhearted, too willing to forgive every sin. Every time Yuuri prepared to head off on some foolhardy quest, Wolfram could feel his body tense.

He always felt better going with him.

In their duel, only Gwendal had seemed inclined to think it fair that Wolfram use his pact with the fire. He'd known he'd been bested, but it had been a sting to his pride and that Yuuri didn't take him seriously had been unforgivable. Part of him still felt a small sense of satisfaction that he'd been the one who had first awakened the maou.

Yuuri had done it without any coaching. It had come to him naturally, from deep inside, instinctively.

Wolfram knew, too, that Yuuri hadn't known the customs of the land when he'd arrived, but he'd refused to take it back – very passionately, at that – and the proposal was official. To Wolfram, the way Yuuri had handled their duel – the way he always handled things without thinking, against all advice, and still managed to bring about change – meant that Yuuri's instincts were often very good.

Yuuri hadn't thought about it when he'd picked up the spork and the knife and pointed them at Elizabeth. As always, he'd done what came naturally to him. The sight of the silverware in Yuuri's hands had made Wolfram feel – almost seasick, but in a pleasant way.

The glass was cool under his fingers and Wolfram leaned his forehead against it.

Yuuri was his fiancé. He had no problem reminding the wimp of that; any fool could see he was in constant need of it. His mother had once – probably more than once but once that he knew of – had a suitor who'd played hard to get. To Wolfram the man hadn't seemed at all interested, but that was impossible. His mother was beautiful and the maou and no sane man could resist her charms. She'd shaken a finger at the man and told him he protested far too much to be sincere.

The man was nothing like Yuuri, but still...

Wolfram had no respect for a man who couldn't stick by his ideals. Such a man, a man who was beneath contempt, would never make a good ally, and yet so many of the humans who had firmly believed the worst of the Mazoku were changing their minds.

It was different. They'd seen for themselves the error of their ways. Some people believed only what they wished to believe and those were the ones Yuuri would have the hardest time with.

Yuuri's greatest strength, and Wolfram was often convinced his greatest downfall, was hope. It was the tenuous thread that bound together so many nations, the hope that there was change for the better, that the future wasn't bleak and that everyone could exist together peacefully.

It was an admirable dream, and Wolfram could understand dreams.

Hope was a dangerous thing to have. It took a brave man to have hope and to cling to that which he believed in when there were so many reasons why he should give up. Wolfram lifted his fingers from the glass and curled them into a fist.

Among his list of strengths, Wolfram von Bielefeld was proud to count courage as one of them.


End file.
